


Situational Awareness

by windsweptfic



Series: Hercules Hansen is Ridiculously Attractive (And Equally Oblivious) [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, More Herc Ogling, Newt's kinda a slag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsweptfic/pseuds/windsweptfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc does not recognize the fact that the majority of the Shatterdome would love to get in his pants; Newt helpfully spells it out for him.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/918063">Visual Appreciation</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situational Awareness

**Author's Note:**

> Silly little continuation of Herc getting ogled for his _assets_. There will be a third part at some point, probably.
> 
> Inspired to be written by [this prompt](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/2747.html?thread=3585211#t3585211) at the KM: _Herc Hansen strikes me as the sort of guy who's really oblivious to the fact that he's hot. He dresses down, he's unshaven, yeah, he has muscles, but he's a soldier, that's part of the job - doesn't combine in his head to desireable. Thanks to that, he makes the technicians despair when he climbs on the Jaeger in old, tight jeans covered in oilstains, gives shirtless battle demonstrations to oogling recruits and is easily goaded into bending over to pick things up for people._
> 
> _Chuck is, of course, mortified, because ew that's his dad and STOP STARING AT HIS ARSE. Someone else, though, thinks it's time to clue Herc in on the fact that he thinks Herc is quite something to look at._
> 
> First time writing Newt extensively, so I think his voice is a little off. Would love feedback on it!

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Newt cooed at Max affectionately for a moment longer, scratching behind the bulldog's ears before glancing back up at the pup's owner. The indignation he felt over Herc's dubious expression might have come out a little better if he hadn't caught his gaze on those miles of jeans-clad legs. And freckled, muscled forearms. And a strong jaw and firm mouth with lips that were pursed into an unhappy bow--

"Anngh," Newt said intelligently. "Um. Yes. I know what I'm doing."

Herc cast him another skeptical look, but he did crouch down next to him. A callused hand reached out to pet Max's back gently. The dog was making a valiant attempt at wagging his tail, but the sad droopy eyes and quiet whine when Newt brushed against his stomach was far from Max's usual boisterous self.

"He hasn't eaten anything all day," Herc said worriedly. "Chuck has a vet in the city he goes to, but he's off in interviews, and my Chinese is crap. I don't think it's too serious, but..."

"Well, better to make sure, right?" Newt replied cheerfully. He levered himself to his feet and patted the steel table that usually housed the various jarred specimens he'd collected over the years. "Put the pooch up here."

Herc gathered Max up in his arms, biceps flexing as he lifted sixty pounds of slobbering dog onto the table. 

Newt enjoyed the sight for all of the five seconds it took before Max puked all over Herc's shirt.

"Aw, shit--"

Herc jerked back, looking down at his ruined henley in dismay. Newt ran a soothing hand over Max's flank as the bulldog let out an unhappy grunt.

"Poor thing, you don't have the stomach for being manhandled right now, do you? Though, really, if I was in your spot, I'd make the most of--"

Newt's brain fizzled out when he looked up to see Herc pulling his shirt over his head.

"What--what are you _doing_?" he squawked.

Herc looked at him like he was crazy. It really wasn't a fair expression, in Newt's opinion, considering that he was doing his damned best to avoid ogling the one man in the Shatterdome who was likely to get him gutted if he got caught looking. 

"Cleaning my shirt," Herc replied, deliberately slow. "It's one of the last ones that actually fit. I can use that sink over there, right?"

Newt made a strangled noise that he hoped sounded something like agreement. It seemed to do; Herc wiped yellow bile off his stomach--and his _abs_ \--with the cloth as he went to the industrial sink that Newt usually used in conjunction with cleaning up kaiju guts. 

This was a better use for it. 

Much better.

"You, uh, said he hasn't eaten?" Newt asked, dragging his eyes away from the lean, toned muscles of Herc's bare back. And the freckles liberally dotting it. And the faded tribal coyote tattoo inked over his left shoulder blade. And--

"I tried to feed him this morning, but he spit it back up," Herc replied. He wrung out his shirt and tucked it under his belt before returning to the table.

Newt focused very intently on peeling back Max's lips to check his gums. 

The dog appeared distinctly unimpressed.

"Probably better not to feed him for now, then," Newt said. "Though he's pretty dehy--oh come on, man, this isn't fair!"

Herc gave him the stare again. But Newt was _definitely_ not the crazy one this time, because Herc was honest-to-god _dripping_ , little rivulets of water curving down around the defined muscles of his chest. There were pectorals and skin and tattoos and dark red hair dusting his abdomen in a happy, happy trail--

Herc followed Newt's bugged-out gaze to glance down at himself in confusion. 

"What? You want me to put something on?"

"No!" Newt blurted. "I mean--yes?"

He paused briefly to give Herc a long, slow once-over, nibbling on his bottom lip.

"...no. Definitely no."

Comprehension _finally_ seeming to dawn, Herc shot Newt a perplexed look as he folded his arms across his stupidly-defined chest. At least he seemed sort of flattered instead of offended; Newt preferred his bones unbroken.

"Aren't I a little old for you?"

Newt snorted indelicately.

"Are you kidding me? I know people half my age who would climb you like a tree."

"Like a--" Herc paused. Blinked. "Wait, what? Who? Do I know them?"

"If you're acquainted with most of the Shatterdome and the majority of people who tune into the PPDC news channel, then, yes, you do." 

Newt patted Max's head before going over to the small fridge in the corner of the lab, pulling out a bottle of Gatorade that was tucked away behind layers of Red Bull and iced coffee. He cast Herc a bemused glance as he carried it over to the metal container of liquid nitrogen he usually used to flash-freeze kaiju specimens. Herc's brow was furrowed, as if he was working through some complex cipher without a code.

"Are you seriously that clueless?"

 _"Newt,"_ Herc said shortly. Newt pulled off the top of the container, and lifted his hands--one still holding the bottle--apologetically.

"I didn't--okay, sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He poured the Gatorade into a recently-cleaned (probably) metal bowl. "But you're pretty smokin', Herc. If Pentecost didn't look like he'd cut off body parts whenever somebody makes a pass at you, I'd have tried to get into your pants _ages_ ago."

"Newt!" 

"I'm just being honest!"

Mouth pursed, Herc went to Max's side, petting the dog absently as Newt lowered the bowl into the liquid nitrogen with a pair of tongs. He waited a few seconds before lifting it back out, carrying it over to the table.

"It looks like he just as a little stomach bug. Don't let him eat anything for the next twenty-four hours, but try to keep him hydrated." He motioned to the bowl, very determinedly Not Looking at Herc's still-bare chest. "Anything with extrolytes is best, but water'll do. Freezing it will keep him from lapping it all up and making himself puke again."

Herc nodded, scratching Max's ears with a fond, rueful expression that Newt imagined Chuck was also often a recipient of. Herc lifted his eyes, smiling a soft smile that Newt was surprised Pentecost hadn't yet found a way to weaponize.

"Thanks, Newt. I really appreciate it."

Newt waved a hand reflexively, blank gaze still caught on the gentle curve of Herc's lips. 

"No problem. Anytime. Come back soon. Or, uh, not."

But instead of leaving straightaway as Newt expected, Herc hesitated, clearing his throat a little awkwardly.

"Sta--the Marshal. You said... He really does that?"

Newt blinked, and didn't bother trying to stifle his grin. He had never seen Herc shy before--it was _adorable_.

"Totally," he said with a decisive nod. "It's this little smirk he gets, all creepy-calm like he's thinking about the best way to yank out your entrails and feed them back to you."

Herc lifted his eyebrows. He glanced down at his hands with a small smile as he toyed with the Academy ring around his finger that, according to scuttlebutt, was not his own.

"He does do that look pretty well," he admitted. Newt studied him for a moment before reaching out to clap him on the shoulder--and withdrawing hastily when he received a pointed look in return.

"Seriously, though," he said earnestly. "You're a good guy, Herc, and people notice that. It isn't just because of your pretty, deliciously scruffy face. Or your ridiculous body. Or--well. Stacker's lucky to have you, man. That's all."

"Thanks, Newt." A slight furrow creased Herc's brow. "I think."

Newt tapped a contemplative finger against his chin as he watched Herc gather bowl and dog in his arms.

"Hey, Herc?"

"Yeah?"

"Mind if I take a look at your wardrobe?"

* * *

  


**Bonus convo between (the same) two Shatterdome workers:**

"Keep an eye out the next couple days; I think something's going to happen with our resident hot dads."

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

"I heard Newt talking to Dr. Gottlieb earlier about some grand plan to prove to Herc that he's stupidly attractive."

"Who, Geiszler?"

"No, _Herc_. Keep up. Anyway, apparently he took a crack at Herc's clothes, told him what to wear if he wanted to 'test the theorum'."

"Ohh?"

"Can't be sure, but I think I heard something about shorts and shirtlessness in there."

_"Awesome."_


End file.
